The caste census in Karnataka opened on a turbulent note, with its very first day marred by technical hurdles, delayed logistics, and visible discontent among both enumerators and citizens. Despite the government’s assurance that the survey would be conducted in a scientific and structured manner, the rollout revealed serious gaps in planning. Enumerators in several districts complained of glitches in the digital system, while others were left waiting for kits and training. As a result, the number of households covered was minimal, with only about 2,765 households and 10,642 individuals surveyed, a fraction of the vast target of nearly two crore households.
The exercise is ambitious, both in its scale and in its political implications. With an estimated cost of Rs 420 crore, the survey involves 1.75 lakh enumerators—many of them schoolteachers—tasked with covering a population of around seven crore. Each household will not only be geo-tagged through electricity meter numbers but also given a unique ID, with Aadhaar and ration card details linked for accuracy. Yet, the challenges of execution, compounded by disputes over caste nomenclature in the survey handbook, have made the start rocky. Commission Chairman Madhusudan R. Naik clarified that contentious labels such as “Kuruba Christian” or “Brahmin Christian” were only meant for internal classification and held no legal status, but the debate they triggered underscored the sensitivity of identity politics in the state.
Political reactions to the census have been immediate and polarising. The BJP seized upon the initial chaos, accusing the Congress government of using the survey as a tool to divide Hindu society along caste lines. Leaders such as Jagadish Shettar, Ashwathnarayan, and BY Vijayendra criticised the government for poor preparation and questioned the very legality of the exercise, especially when the Centre has already announced plans for caste enumeration in the national census. The party also highlighted contradictions, noting that a Scheduled Caste survey had already been conducted in the past and that internal reservations were already structured around it. This line of attack suggests the BJP intends to position the Congress’s effort as both redundant and politically motivated.
Community-level responses reveal just how politically charged the census has become. Vokkaliga leaders instructed their members to record themselves strictly as “Hindu” and “Vokkaliga,” resisting labels they see as potentially divisive. Veerashaiva-Lingayat leaders voiced similar instructions but added another layer by debating whether their community should be recorded as a separate religion altogether. Other groups—including Kurubas, Brahmins, Muslims, and Scheduled Castes—have also mobilised their communities to maintain consistency in responses, a clear sign that the census is not merely administrative but deeply tied to future questions of representation, reservation, and political bargaining.
The Congress government, meanwhile, finds itself under increasing scrutiny from both allies and critics. Even Vokkaliga Congress leaders approached AICC chief Mallikarjun Kharge, seeking postponement of the exercise on the grounds of inadequate preparation and training. They argued for a timeline extension from the current 15 days to at least three months, reflecting the fear that a rushed process may fuel more resentment than clarity. The government’s decision to revive the caste census after discarding the 2015 survey—which cost Rs 165 crore but was never fully utilised—has only added to the perception of political opportunism. The earlier attempt, too, was opposed by influential groups like Vokkaligas and Veerashaiva-Lingayats, who dismissed it as unscientific.
At the heart of the controversy is the larger debate over identity politics and social justice. The Congress has framed the survey as a long-overdue step mandated by the Karnataka State Commission for Backward Classes Act, 1995, which requires revision of the backward classes list every ten years. Critics, however, argue that the timing and haste of the process are politically motivated, designed to reshape caste equations before elections. With the Karnataka High Court set to hear petitions challenging its legality, the fate of the survey remains uncertain. But what is already clear is that the caste census, even in its early days, has reopened long-standing tensions about caste, religion, and political power in Karnataka, ensuring that the exercise will have ramifications far beyond data collection.
